


Always the Tone of Surprise

by DarkCommet



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, BAMF Hermione Granger, F/M, Family Dynamics, Found Families, Friends to Lovers, Good Draco Malfoy, Hermione and Draco adopt Tom, Partners to Lovers, Past Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Time Travel, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Young Tom Riddle, raising a child is hard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2020-08-11 15:37:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20155960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkCommet/pseuds/DarkCommet
Summary: "Could you kill a kid, Granger?" He asks and Hermione finds herself unable to formulate a proper answer."Could you?""No," Draco's voice is a broken whisper, "I don't think I could."





	1. Chapter 1

It's the middle of December and the world is blanketed in the powdery white that typically tends to make itself known around that time of year. If Hermione didn't know any better she might have been tricked into thinking that everything that had happened- the war, the death, the pain- was nothing but a figment of her imagination... She almost wishes that it was. 

Unfortunately, the bandage around her arm does nothing to hide the fact that her nightmares are all very, very real. 

Her friends are gone, killed by a madman and the radicals that followed him, and all Hermione has left of them can either be found in her memories or at the very bottom of the beaded bag she's somehow managed not to lose. 

Everyone she has ever truly loved is lost to her; and for what? 

Voldemort is dead, his war pushed aside in favor of another more brutal one. Beyond these walls the world is nothing but blood and ash and ruin. Purebloods, Half-Bloods, and Muggle Borns left to their own devices in the wake of a completely governmental collapse. It's the textbook definition of Anarchy and the only reason Hermione isn't involved in it is because she's here. 

The only thing still standing in relative order is Gringotts, and only because the bank has only ever been run by goblins. 

With a sigh Hermione pulls the blanket she'd stolen from one of the rooms upstairs tighter around her shoulders. Even with the fireplace roaring behind her there's a distinct chill settling in her bones. Maybe it's because she's pressed against the large window where she's been watching as the world beyond the frosted glass turn into a haze of snow, bare trees, and only just visible cobbled paths. 

Malfoy Manor truly is beautiful. 

it's a shame Hermione can only bring herself to appreciate little bits and pieces of it. 

Like the library, with it's towering shelves and the mural ceiling that reminds her almost a bit too much of Hogwarts. 

"You look tired, Granger." 

She doesn't turn to look at Draco but she does pull her feet closer to her bum so he can take a seat on the bench with her. 

Draco takes the silent invitation and flops down across from her, a freshly opened bottle of firewhisky held in his slender grip. He looks about as exhausted as Hermione feels and it's either a result of the stress this entire situation has put him under or the lingering trauma. Probably bother. Hermione knows she's suffering from a fair bit of post traumatic stress herself. 

Reaching out Hermione carefully plucks the bottle from his fingers, an easy task considering he doesn't fight her for it. The label on the bottle is faded and pealing, 'Oden's Olde' the only thing Hermione can really make out on the yellowing tag. This wouldn't be the first time Draco's broken into his father's liquor store... But she's never stopped him from drinking and she's never refused a sip when he offers her the bottle. 

After taking a sip she places the bottle on the bench between them and watches Draco as he turns to face the window. 

In the firelight he looks... Very dashing. 

"I've been thinking, you know? I do a lot of that lately it would seem." Draco begins, tongue peaking out to wet his bottom lip. 

Hermione blinks, nods, and says, "About what?" 

"The war. What might have changed if we'd been on the right side of things." Draco shakes his head. "There wasn't a right side in the end though so I don't think it matters all that much." 

"Would you have fought for him if he was the right side?" 

"No," he says it with so much conviction that the little part of her that had tensed up in preparation eases, "I wouldn't have fought for him at all." 

She doesn't comment on how Draco's fingers tug at the hem of his sleeve to pull it further down around his slim wrist. 

Neither of them walked away from the war without a far amount of guilt and regret. Hermione's stems from her inability to keep Harry alive, her inability to help him win the war, her inability to die with everyone else. Draco isn't much different she suspects. He lost his parents, watched as his classmates were murdered, watched as his world crumbled around him. 

If he were a terrible person it would have been different. 

But there lies the problem. 

No matter what he's done, no matter how badly he's messed up in the past, Draco Malfoy is a good person at heart and a human to boot. A defining feature of humanity is the ability to make mistakes and attempt to atone for them. 

"You probably wouldn't have changed anything if you'd been on our side... There still would have been Voldemort, and Dolohov, and Bellatrix. People still would have died." 

Draco takes a large swig from the bottle before passing it to her. 

"Maybe, but at least I would have done what's right." 

"You did do what was right in the end, Draco, it's not your fault that Tom Riddle turned into a sadistic megalomaniac." 

A horrible huff of laughter leaves the blond wizard's mouth. 

"I feel bad for him... Tom Riddle... Sometimes." 

Hermione's fingers tingle as she passes the bottle back. 

"Oh yeah?" 

"My parents might not have been good people but they loved me. I know they loved me. They did everything in their power to protect me," Draco's shoulders tremble. "He didn't have that. My father told me that Tom Riddle grew up in some filthy muggle orphanage in London after Merope died while his equally filthy muggle father drank and fucked and did whatever else it is rich muggles do." 

Hermione rolls her eyes, "He didn't have to turn into a murderer though." 

Silver eyes flash as Draco shakes his head. 

"No... But he didn't really have anyone to teach him right from wrong when he was a boy either." 

Anger, hot and reckless burns in Hermione's chest. 

"Are you seriously defending the man who essentially murdered your parents?" Hermione bites out. 

"... I could have ended up like him, Granger.... I just.... How can I not?" 

"What? You're nothing like that _thing_." 

"I might have been, once, if my parents hadn't loved me or if I hadn't loved them." 

The anger fades away to a certain kind of pity? Sorrow?

Hermione isn't sure what she's feeling but he knows it's something that's allowed Draco to settle more firmly into a place of friendship then she might have previously allowed. Because Draco looks so incredibly sad, so defeated, and it's an act of vulnerability Hermione's never witnessed from him before now. Before tonight Draco had always expressed his sadness by consuming excess amounts of alcohol before seeking her out to talk about ridiculous muggle inventions that he never quite understood. 

"Do you think that if someone had known what he'd become they would have changed it?" Draco murmurs. 

"I don't know," Hermione replies, vaguely uncomfortable, "maybe." 

A long moment of silence is all they need to finish another quarter of the firewhisky. 

Hermione lets the fuzzy drunk feeling settle over her as she leans against the window where the chill from outside drives away the nearly stifling heat brought on by the alcohol. 

She isn't aware she's begun to doze off until Draco nudges her with his foot. 

"Could you kill a kid, Granger?" He asks and Hermione finds herself unable to formulate a proper answer. 

"Could you?" 

"No," Draco's voice is a broken whisper, "I don't think I could."

Deciding that they've had too much to drink Hermione takes the bottle from Draco before rising to her feet. But he looks so defeated, so wrecked, just as defeated and wrecked as she is that it brings tears to Hermione's eyes and without much thought she puts the bottle on the floor, reaches out, curls her arms around Draco's shoulders, and pulls him in for a hug. 

After a brief moment of tension in which Hermione begins to regret her impulsive action Draco slowly, tentatively, wraps his arms around her waist and buries his face in her shoulder where he just breathes. Hermione wonders if he's ever hugged anyone aside from his parents. It doesn't matter one way or another she supposes. Neither of them are going to mention it tomorrow. 

* * *

_Do you think that if someone had known what he'd become they would have changed it?_

Draco's question haunts Hermione over the next few days. Those words and something Harry had said in passing about Voldemort's childhood sparking a series of thoughts that make the young witch's head spin. And as she's never been one to give up when things get sticky Hermione just rolls her shoulders and takes it in stride. These ideas are, after all, centered around the thought of changing _everything_. 

So she does what she always used to do whenever she wasn't sure about something. She scours the Malfoy library, pours over each and every single book to find anything even remotely useful. 

Somehow Draco convinces her to take a break for Yule; they drink warm butterbeer, talk about holidays gone by, and exchange gifts near a roaring fire that smells of pine and hesitant joy. She gives Draco Rubik's Cube that she transfigured from a rock and gets a pretty, jeweled hair pin in return. It's nice, Hermione cherishes the memories she makes with Draco but Yule ends pretty quickly after, the pin gets put in a jewelry box in her room, and Hermione returns to her search.

It's the middle of February before she manages to gather enough information to determine if her plan is even possible. Thankfully, it's not an impossibility. Incredibly unlikely but not impossible. 

Not if she can convince Draco to help her. 

So it's with all her Gryffindor courage and a ritual book stuffed with marked parchment that Hermione seeks out the blond. 

Avoiding the room where she was tortured, Hermione searches the Manor and finds Draco in the potions room in the basement. He's curled over a book Hermione can't make out and the furrow between his brow tells her that whatever he's looking at is important. 

"Hey," She calls as she knocks on the open door, "got a minute?" 

"Yeah." Draco closes the book, turns, and leans against the work table. 

He's wearing a pristine white button up with the sleeves rolled to just above his elbows and the first two buttons undone, he's wearing black slacks, custom made shoes, and a signet ring made of silver and peppered with both diamonds and emeralds. Very Slytherin. 

Hermione takes a moment to gather her thoughts. 

"I've been thinking about what you said." She starts. 

"I say a lot of things, Granger, please be more specific." 

"About someone doing something about Tom as a kid." 

Draco goes incredibly pale and clenches his jaw as he says, "And I'm sure that brain of yours came up with something extraordinarily you." 

"I've been doing a lot of reading-" "Of course you have." "- and I think I've found a way for us to go back to when Tom would have been about six." 

"Merlin's Saggy Balls Granger! You cant honestly be thinking about killing a child can you?" 

Offended, Hermione reels back. 

"What? No, of course not! Why would you even think such a thing?" She demands, arms crossed over her chest. 

Draco throws his hands up in the air, "What else are you thinking of doing?" 

"Certainly not killing him!" 

"Then what Granger? What could you possibly do to change all of this?" He motions to the space between and around them, eyes wild, cheeks flushed. 

Hermione wants to yells, scream, shake him until he sees stars! Because they talked about this! How could he even think she's condone the killing of an innocent child? Yes, Tom Riddle might have grown up to be the darkest wizard Britain had ever known but he was an innocent little boy once who had been let down by not only his family but by the very man who supposedly tried to teach him to be good. 

But Dumbledore failed so many children over his life that it's not a surprise at this point. 

Fortunately for Tom, Hermione won't make their mistakes. 

"I'm going to adopt him." 

Flushed cheeks go pale, wild eyes go wide with surprise, and a sharp jaw drops as Draco begins to comprehend what it is she's saying. 

"You're... What?" 

"I am going to go back and adopt Tom Riddle." 

Skepticism clear on his face Draco asks, "And how is that going to change anything." 

"You said it yourself. If your parents hadn't loved you then you would have ended up like _him_." 

"Do you honestly think that you going back would change anything?" 

"I don't know!" She screams, all the emotions she's bottled up over the past months bursting forth in a wave of anger. "I don't know but I can't keep living like this, Draco! I can't keep thinking that I didn't do enough or that I failed to protect them!" 

"What if your plan doesn't work? Did you think about that? Did you!" Draco snaps back. 

"What does it matter if it works or not? Everyone we love is already dead!" 

Grey eyes widen before narrowing into slits. 

Hermione should feel guilt but she doesn't. If doing this means she can bring back Harry and Ron and everyone else she and Draco lost then so be it. She'd jump through hundreds of years for even a chance at saving them. Well, most of them. She can't honestly say she would jump with joy if Lucius Malfoy came back to life but Draco probably would and so Hermione thinks that's a good enough reason as any for the pompous bastard to live again. 

Making Draco smile, even if for a second, has become another incredibly important part of Hermione's day. 

Their frienship is strange and it might not be just friendship anymore but she's in no position currently to explore what their relationship _might_ be. Not when she's got something else, something more dangerous, to deal with first. 

"So what? You're just going to go as you are name and everything else included? What happens when he runs into you in the future? What are you going to tell him? The truth? Ha! That would go over well." 

"Don't be ridiculous Draco." Hermione stomps past him and slams her book down on the work table. "I found a ritual that will change my appearance just enough that the idea of a distant relation wouldn't be unheard of. Maybe I'll have estranged family, maybe I'll just change my name and we could be distantly related. Either way, he'll never know." 

Pinching the bridge of his nose Draco merely shakes his head before flipping through her notes. 

Several minutes pass in which the blond goes over every note, every scribble Hermione has made on the copious amounts of parchment now spread out over the table. Draco doesn't say anything as he reads, only humming or snorting on occasion. It annoys the curly haired witch watching him. 

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, Draco turns to meet her gaze. 

"I don't think this is going to work but you're going to do it anyways aren't you?" He asks. 

"Obviously." 

"You're not going alone." 

"What? Of course I am." 

"No, you're not." 

Something in his tone tells Hermione that he's not in an arguing mood and honestly? Hermione's ok with Draco tagging along. 

While she'd figured out how to throw herself into the past she's also thought of how she would support Tom and herself once she'd done so. Figuring out where they would live, how she would raise him, and how she would support them had all been carefully researched and debated upon. And realistically all of those things would be made much easier with Draco's help. Having a male role model of pure blood might help to curb any inferiority complexes Tom might acquire while in Slytherin, because obviously he would be sorted there being the Heir of Slytherin and all. It would also help to have a familiar face around to ground Hermione. 

But still.... Hermione hadn't accounted for Draco wanting to follow her back in time to help her raise a young Tom Riddle so it throws her through a bit of a loop in all honesty. 

A might sigh escapes through Hermione's nose, a sign of her reluctant acceptance, just before she offers the man across from her a brisk nod. 

The smile he gives her in return is entirely too smug for Hermione's liking. 

* * *

"We should get married." Draco remarks very suddenly a few days later as the two of them sit at the kitchen table for breakfast. 

Hermione slowly looks away from the parchment in her hand to stare at Draco with shocked eyes. 

"What?" 

"Married. We should get married. It would be more believable for us to be adopting a child together if we were married." 

"... I suppose..." 

They're already giving themselves fake names and fake lives. What would a fake marriage be in comparison to all that? But would it be fake? Draco said 'get' as opposed to 'be' and while there are worse people to marry then Draco Malfoy their marriage would have to be a convincing one. 

Could she do that? 

Could she sleep in the same bed with him? Dote on him? Display her affections for him as publicly as her mother had displayed her love for Hermione's father? 

Looking at Draco, with his wide grey eyes and hesitant smile that makes him seem more boyish then he is? 

_Yes_, she thinks and it's almost a violent thought,_ I think that I could_. 

Leaning back in the beautifully crafted wooden chair she'd claimed earlier that morning Hermione purses her lips. 

"How would that work? Us getting married?" She asks. 

"Sign a couple of papers and we're legally married." 

"Can we even get those papers?" 

This time Draco nods. 

"I can get all the necessary paperwork from Gringotts as well as the contents of the Malfoy and Black vaults." 

"You can still access those vaults?" Hermione hates the surprise in her voice. 

"Sure, I'll just have to Floo in and maybe wait around for a few hours to get everything together but I'm the heir to both vaults considering... Well, considering everything that's happened." 

Hermione doesn't push for any more information. 

"Alright. So we're going to get married, we're going to get the money from the vault, where are we going to stay?" 

"There's an old estate East of Edinburgh we could stay." 

"You've got property in Scottland?" 

"And France, and Germany. We Malfoys are a pretentious lot and we just love to throw our wealth around." Draco laughs. 

Hermione giggles. 

"What if I wanted to stay somewhere that isn't owned by your family? I think it would be safer to maybe buy a little country home in England, something that isn't owned by the Malfoys or Blacks... Just in case." 

"That's," Draco swallows hard, "that's fair." 

"I'm sure your home East of Edinburgh is lovely though." 

"You'd have liked it. It overlooks the sea." 

This smile is a softer one and Hermione says, "When I was young my parents would take me camping in the Forest of Dean in Gloucestershire. It was stunning." 

She shoves the memories of cold nights and arguing and starving and a dark voice whispering promises of power into her ear when Harry and Ron couldn't protect her. Those memories are painful, they're raw, Hermione doesn't want them. So she thinks about her father's laughter and her mother's smile and how she used to try and count the stars in whatever little clearing they set up camp in. 

Draco must see something in her face because he offers a soft smile that makes his eyes look closer to a soft fog then the hard steel Hermione became used to seeing in her youth. 

"Your parents must have been great people." 

"They were." Hermione says, voice thick with emotion, "They were." 

Neither of them say anything after that but Draco reaches across the table and threads his fingers through hers, calloused thumb rubbing soothing circles against Hermione's knuckles. The small act of comfort breaks something in Hermione and she's not even aware that she's sobbing hysterically until Draco's wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his chest. 

She's going to ruin his shirt, tears and snot don't typically do well with such fine silk... But it's so nice to be _held_, to be allowed to choke on her own breath without the fear of bothering anyone with the noise of her sorrow. 

So she chokes and gasps and cries into Draco's chest while he smooths down her hair and whispers comforting nothings into her ear as he does. 

"It's ok. It's going to be ok." He promises as Hermione trembles. "We're going to change _everything_." 


	2. Chapter 2

"Ooh, this old heart of mine been broke a thousand times

Each time you break away, I think you're gone to stay. 

Lonely nights that come, memories that flow

Bring you back again, hurting me more and more." Hermione sings to keep herself distracted, sings to make the fact that she's sifting through not only Narcissa Malfoy's old clothes but Draco's grandmother's as well a bit less uncomfortable for her. 

While it'll be easy enough to go out and buy proper casual and dress robes once they get settled in their new time Hermione had conceded to Draco's point that the clothes won't be missed by their former owners and it would be easier to take them than to worry about drawing attention to herself with her 'modern muggle fashion trends'. She'd smacked the blond one the shoulder for that one. 

But now she's sitting in Narcissa's old dressing room surrounded by trunks of various sizes and a wardrobe with a magically expanded inside. It's pretentious to say the least but Hermione hadn't expected much else from the Malfoy matriarch. 

"Maybe it's my mistake to show this love I feel inside 

'cause each day that passes by, 

You've got me never knowin' if I'm comin' or goin' but I 

I love you-ou-ou, yes I do. 

This old heart (ooh) darlin' is weak for you. 

I love you-ou-ou, yes I do." 

Hermione carefully sets aside a neatly folded pile of lingerie because there's no way in any sort of Hell she's going to wear Draco's mother's underwear. But there _are_ several formal robes that Hermione adds to the ever growing pile on the bed. Narcissa's sense of style shows a pattern of being more on the classical elegance side as opposed to the flashy, eye-catching one that Hermione had grown used to seeing in most pure blooded girls in school. 

Unfortunately for Hermione, none of Narcissa's casual robes are timeless enough for her to wear them during the nineteen-thirties. 

Draco's grandmother's clothes on the other hand are a bit more useful seeing as she would have been in the same age group as Tom during her teenage years. And seeing as she happened to be a French witch the clothing is a bit more reminisce of a more muggle fashion. Which means Hermione can use a bit of magic to alter some of the fits but otherwise they're perfectly suitable to wear out in muggle London whenever she needs to. 

"There old arms of mine miss having you around 

Make these tears inside start falling down. 

Always with half a kiss, you remind me of what I miss

Though I try to control myself

Like a fool I start grinnin' 'cause my head starts spinnin' 'cause I

I love you-ou-ou, yes I do. 

This old heart (ooh) darlin' is weak for you. 

I love you-ou-ou, yes I do." 

Gathering up the clothes she's decided to keep from the ridiculous amounts scattered about the room Hermione makes her way over to a large trunk Draco had given her before she'd started searching. Once the clothes are nestled away in their wooden prison Hermione turns to grab the shoes she'd tried on a bit earlier and quickly shoves them into the trunk. 

There's still quite a bit of room left over in the trunk. 

Room meant for jewelry, makeup, or hat boxes. None of which Hermione has. 

Oh, Draco had offered her free pick of the jewelry he'd said hadn't had any nasty little curses but... Wearing a person's clothes is one thing... But their jewelry? Narcissa and Eclaire Malfoy had likely had those pieces handed down to them or had specifically picked them out. They might never be used again in this time-line, and no one will ever notice they've gone but.... Hermione just doesn't feel right taking them. 

So they remain untouched on the vanity where she'd helped Draco put them. 

Besides, she isn't the type of girl to wear a lot of jewelry anyway. The jewelry she does have is tucked away in a small box in her beaded bag; a necklace from her grandmother, the class ring her father had given her, a bracelet her mother had gotten her, and a couple other little objects that Hermione had loved too much to leave behind with her parents when she took their memories. 

And it's enough. 

If she wants more she can buy more later but... The Malfoy jewelry will remain where they are. 

Thankfully she's pulled away from her task by a loud rap of knuckles on hard wood. 

"Got a moment?" Draco asks and Hermione turns to look at him as she shuts the trunk lid. 

Draco's dressed in casual dress robes, the jacket of which is now thrown over his shoulder. He looks tired with the dark circles under his eyes and messy hair, but Hermione's sure she doesn't look much better to be honest. 

"Of course, what's wrong?" 

"Nothing. I emptied the vaults today and remembered why I bloody hate Goblins." 

"You probably did better then I would have? I did break into Gringotts afterall." 

"And out. They're still repairing everything." 

Heat pools in Hermione's cheeks. 

"Yes," she coughs, "well..." 

Perhaps her uncomfortable utterance has moved Draco because he snorts out a laugh before digging into his pocket. He tosses a small velvet box at her and Hermione isn't thrilled to admit that she batters it about awkwardly between her hands in her attempts to catch it. 

Once she's got it in her hands though, that's when Hermione actually opens the box. 

It's... a ring box. 

Obviously she should have guessed that. Not many boxes are this small and covered in velvet unless they're a ring box. 

Hermione glances at Draco who offers her an encouraging nod but nothing else. 

Deciding she'd best get it over and done with Hermione uses her thumb to flip the lid of the box up to reveal what's hidden inside. 

It's a ring, obviously, but it's not like any ring Hermione's ever really seen before. The band is made of bronze shaped to look like little branches and leaves that overlap to carefully secure the large, circular fire opal resting in the middle. Hermione swallows heavily. There's also a simpler bronze band resting in the box, it's a matching set. She knows because the second band also has the leaf and branch imagery. 

"Is this..." 

"A wedding band set? Yes. I figured we'd need them." 

Glancing down at Draco's hand Hermione finds a band of twisted bronze leaves wrapped around his ring finger. The color of the metal is stark against Draco's pale skin and the contrast isn't unappealing. It certainly draws the eye. 

Maybe that was the point. 

Hermione clears her throat and manages to utter a soft, "Thank you." before pulling the rings out of their box to slide them onto her ring finger. 

The fit is a bit off, the band just a bit too large for Hermione's slender finger, but that corrects itself as the band of the ring begins to tighten around Hermione's finger until th fit is snug enough that Hermione doesn't have to worry about it slipping off her finger. 

"It's certainly beautiful... Don't you think it's a bit contemporary though?" She asks as she eyes the way the ring glints in the sunlight streaming in from the window behind her. 

"I think a contemporary wedding ring is the least of our worries, Granger." Draco intones rather dryly.

Hermione can't help but nod. 

"You're probably right." 

"Did you pick out everything you might need?" Draco asks, eyes focused on the controlled mess behind Hermione. 

Thankful for the change of topics Hermione nods slowly, wayward curls bouncing around her head as she does so. 

"Yeah, most of your grandmother's robes should work..." Hermione trails off as she rubs some heat into her upper arms with her palms.

"We can get whatever else you need after we get where we're going." Draco remarks before moving over to the trunk and dropping a large satchel into the trunk. 

It's likely the money from the bank. Or maybe it isn't. Hermione isn't entirely sure if Draco pulled all of his inheritance from the vaults at Gringotts or not but she doesn't think the Goblins would have been able to send the contents of the vault backwards in time if he hadn't. It's all very confusing. 

With a quiet sigh meant only for her own ears Hermione turns to pulls her beaded bag off of the vanity where she'd tossed it aside earlier. 

"What are we going to do with the library?" Hermione asks as she adjusts the strap of the bag over her shoulder. 

Grey eyes shine with gentle amusement as Draco replies with a taunting little, "What? Scared you'll get bored." 

"Hardly." She bites out dryly. 

They might be friends but that doesn't mean she won't admit that Draco Malfoy is still a giant prat sometimes. 

"We can shrink down anything you want to take with us." Draco says and Hermione swallows. 

"All of it." 

"I beg your pardon?" 

"No one else is using it and it's not like the Malfoy's wouldn't have had all these books in the past." She says a bit more steadily. 

"You are aware that many of those books are dark." 

"I know." Hermione shrugs, "The darker works can be stored away in Gringotts when we get an account... But the idea of just leaving them makes me uncomfortable." 

Draco snorts, "Only you'd be uncomfortable leaving behind books that can flay the skin off your back." 

This time Hermione rolls her eyes and begins making her way toward the door. 

"Piss off Malfoy!" She calls over her shoulder just before she disappears from sight. 

His laughter follows her down the corridor, a rich baritone that sends shivers down Hermione's spine. 

* * *

Days later Hermione finds herself standing within a carefully drawn chalk circle in one of Eclaire Malfoy's casual day robes, her beaded bag full of everything she and Draco might need and hidden beneath the outer robe. Beside her Draco is wearing a pretty time-less set of black robes, if it weren't for his carefully styled hair Hermione might have been inclined to think that Draco hadn't done any of the research she'd asked him to do. 

Hermione twists her ring as she watches Draco finish off the circle. 

"You sure this is going to work?" Draco asks, the nervousness in his tone barely concealed. 

"No." 

"What?" 

"It should work but I can't promise anything, Draco." 

_Really? You expect me to believe that?_ his eyes seem to ask and Hermione swallows the lump in her throat. 

Technically speaking the spell should work but considering the fact they hadn't been able to test it the way Hermione would have liked... There are things that could go wrong. They could mispronounce a word and get themselves murdered! It wouldn't be hard considering the translation for the spell was worn and only partially completed. Hermione might be prepared to try the spell but that's only because she has nothing else to loose if it doesn't work. 

It's one of the initial reasons Hermione had almost told Draco to sod off when he'd told her he wanted to go. 

But she supposes he doesn't have anything to loose either. 

"Just remember to think about Diagon Alley, 1932, and me.... Remember to hold on tight. The spell should drop us somewhere outside of Diagon Alley." 

"Maybe." Draco adds. 

"Maybe." 

"If we die Granger I'm haunting you." 

A thin smile is all she gives him as she turns to her carefully drawn chalk circles and runes to give it another once over. Her lines are straight, her circles consistent, the runes are clearly drawn. Of course, Hermione's never done a ritual before so she can't be sure it'll work but... Everything's drawn out like it's supposed to be. 

"Come on, it's time." 

Draco pales a bit before reaching for the athame resting by his feet, Hermione follows suit and with trembling fingers picks up the blade that will help to send her and Draco back. 

_Intention is key_, Hermione thinks as she focuses on Draco. 

His hair is slicked back, eyes liquid silver in the low light offered by the moonlight filtering in through the window. Hermione watches as his pale skin splits open and turns red, the pain from her own hand sharp and hot. 

"Balneum infinitum. Dona salui concuctus." Hermione chants in time to Draco, hand reaching out to grasp his over the bowl filled with Oleander petals, powdered unicorn horn, and elf wine. "Balneum infinitum. Dona salui concuctus." 

When Hermione was little and first seeing Diagon Alley she had thought that nothing was so amazing as the street lined with shops and children like her. It had been her first true introduction to Wizarding society and the experience had stuck with her. No one had known at the time that she was a muggle born, no one had cared. To everyone else she'd just been another magical child getting her wand and school supplies. 

"Balneum infinitum. Dona salui concuctus." 

Vaguely, she wonders if Diagon Alley will be the same in the 30s. Obviously there will be changes, different shops and different people and what not, but will it still be her Diagon Alley? Will she recognize it? Will Draco? 

"Balneum infinitum. Dona salui conductus.

The blood dripping from their hands collects in the bowl between their circles, the centerpiece for the entire ritual. Hermione had had reservations about some of the ingredients but in the end she'd come to the decision that if it didn't work she has a couple of bezoars tucked away on the table toward the back of the room away from the ritual circle. 

If things don't work out she and Draco won't be dying of the poison they'll be ingesting at least. 

Once the liquid in the bowl is sufficiently red Hermione kneels down to take the bowl. 

"Balneum infinitum. Dona salui conductus." She says and Draco nods, "Balneum infinitum. Dona salui conductus." 

With thoughts full of Diagon Alley and Draco and wizarding Britain in 1930 Hermione sips from the bowl. She passes the bowl to Draco, trying not to gag at the taste, and waits for him to drink. 

The bowl clatters onto the ground once Draco finishes, the little remaining contents spilling across the chalk lines. But the shimmering liquid doesn't wash away the circles, instead it spreads out to follow the path Hermione carved earlier that day. 

"Balneum infinitum. Dona salui conductus!" 

There's a sound, like a match striking, and then the room is full of smoke and burning light and their voices rising over the sudden roar of wind that is pulling at Hermione's clothes, hair, and body. She isn't aware that her fingers have slipped from Draco's grasp before she's sent hurtling into darkness. 

* * *

"You have to understand, Mr. Deveraux, your wife's injuries are extensive... Healer Maddox isn't sure she'll recover fully." 

_It worked?_

Deveraux had been a name she and Draco agreed on as it wouldn't be terribly hard to believe that Draco came from a half-blood family in France. 

Relief fills Hermione for the briefest of moments before the pain hits, a deep ache in her body that seems never ending. She groans softly and attempts to open her eyes to figure out where she is. When she finally does manage to peel her eyes open Hermione is greeted by sterile white ceilings and a healer's face hovering over her own. 

"Madam? Madam do you understand me?" 

"Yes." She mumbles, voice soft and surprisingly weak. 

_What happened? _

"Give us a moment." She watches as Draco levels the healer with a look. 

"I'll just go fetch Healer Maddox then. He'll be sure to examine your wife." 

Once the healer's done Hermione turns her attention to Draco. He doesn't say anything as he turns and takes a cup of water from the bedside table, Hermione offers what she's certain is a pitiful smile before taking the cup with a trembling hand. Before she can spill the blessedly cool water on herself Draco covers her hand with his own and helps her hold the glass. 

When she's done Draco sets the glass back where he found it before turning to Hermione. 

"We landed outside of Diagon Alley pretty much in one piece but you wouldn't wake up and there was too much blood for my personal comfort. So now we're at St. Mungo's and I want to punch your healer in the nose." 

"What did you tell them?" 

Draco adjusts his robes, brushing invisible lint off the fine silk, before summoning a chair from across the room and lowering himself into it. 

"I told them we came seeking refuge from Grindelwald. It was the only think I could think of to explain your current state of health." Draco remarks, eyes drifting across Hermione's body. 

"Am I horribly disfigured then?" 

"No, but you've been unconscious for three weeks." 

"_What_?" Hermione's voice is shrill. 

"You've been unconscious for three weeks, your healer said it's likely a result of exhaustion and prolonged exposure to dark magic." with gentle fingers Draco turns Hermione's hand so that she can observed the slowly healing scar on her inner arm. It's covered in clean white bandages, which is strange to her because Hermione always bleeds through her bandages. After a moment she reaches over to pull away the bandages and with some assistance she manages to pull them away to get a look at her arm.

It looks better then it had before... It actually looks like it's healing. 

"... Did the Healers do this?" She asks. 

"Healer Maddox did. Very talented healer he is, very dedicated." 

The click of the door opening makes both Hermione and Draco turn to look at the aging wizard who steps into the room. He's not terribly old but there is more grey in his beard then rich brown which means he's getting up there in age if nothing else. Hermione thinks he has a kind face, it's probably due to the softness of his eyes. The healer behind him looks a bit less friendly in comparison.

"Good afternoon Madam Deveraux, how are you feeling?" 

"Tired, sore." 

"Well that is to be expected considering all you've been through." Healer Maddox turns a jolly smile in her direction before his attention drifts to Hermione's arm. 

He lifts the appendage, removes the gaping bandages, and examines the wound on her arm for a moment before he motions for the second healer who passes over a jar of thick purple paste which Healer Maddox spreads generously over her inner arm. After her arm is more paste then flesh Healer Maddox applies fresh bandages. Then he's pushing potion after potion into Hermione's hand. 

They taste horrid but Hermione knows better then to not take them. 

He seems pleased by her compliance and when she's done taking the potions he sits at the edge of her bed. 

"Now, you've suffered severe injuries and your exposure to the Cruciatus curse is worrying. I'd like to keep you here at St. Mungo's until I've assessed all the damages to your being now that you've woken. Once I'm sure you're both mentally and physically sound enough to be on your own I'll have you released." 

"How long do you think that will be?" Draco demands, eyes burning. 

"I can't be sure. The lingering traces of dark magic could be affecting her negatively in ways we hadn't noticed while she was unconcious. It's best to take a few days at the very least to ensure no such thing is happening." Healer Maddox remarks blandly. 

Before Draco can say anything vaguely threatening Hermione reaches out and wraps her fingers around his wrist to catch his attention. When he and the Healers are all looking at her Hermione clears her throat. 

"It would only be a few days?" She inquires softly. 

"At the very least, yes." 

She turns to Draco, "It's only a few days." 

"I know." 

"... I'll be alright." Hermione promises. 

This makes Draco sigh as he threads his fingers through her aching ones. 

"I know, Mia... Trust me, I know." 

He raises her hand to press a chaste kiss to her knuckles as the healers excuse themselves with promises to return in a few hours to check in on her and administer the necessary potions. Hermione watches them go and once the door closes behind them she turns to Draco. 

They have a lot to talk about. 

* * *

A few days turns out to be another full week before Hermione is released from St. Mungo's. There's quite a bit of paperwork that goes along with the process and Hermione's nerves are just about flayed to nothing by the time she and Draco exit the hospital. 

Hermione isn't sure where they're going and when she asks Draco just smiles at her and says, "It's a surprise, Granger, you like those don't you?" 

The answer is no. 

Hermione does not enjoy surprises actually. In fact, she pretty much despises them. But no matter how hard she pushes, pokes, and prods Draco keeps his mouth firmly shut on the matter. 

It doesn't help matters when Draco pulls out a shoe string and offers the end to her. 

"Where are we going?" She demands. 

"And here I thought you trusted me." Draco intones. 

"I do." 

"Then you have no reason not to trust me now." 

"Was this approved by Healer Maddox?" Hermione demands which earns her an eye roll from Draco. 

"Of course, I'm not fool enough to allow my previously injured wife to take a portkey without approval from a healer."

Gritting her teeth Hermione snatches the end of the string and glares at the blonde wizard as the Portkey activates. 

It's an unpleasant feeling, Hermione doesn't remember it being anything but... Fortunate enough the two of them arrive at their destination which happens to be a two story country home on the outskirts of a forest. The home is large but not large enough to be pretentious. It's lovely. 

Hermione turns to Draco, who smiles brightly at her like he's waiting for her to compliment his work.

"Do you like it? I remember you asked for a country home and so while you were unconscious I procured the services of an agent. Lovely woman, very helpful, she managed to find this place for us." Draco says. 

"Where are we?" 

"Somewhere near Lydney." 

Lydney. 

Which mean... 

"Is this the Forest of Dean?" 

"I'll be incredibly put out with the realtor if it isn't." 

With blurred vision Hermione turns to look at the house she and Draco will be raising Tom in. It's perfect, absolutely perfect and Hermione isn't sure how to express just how happy she is with Draco's thoughtfulness. So instead of talking she turns and wraps her arms around Draco's neck, pressing her face into his chest so he can't see her tears. He just smooths back her hair and lets her hug him. 

"Come on," he says after a moment, "let's take a look shall we?" 

Hermione doesn't need to be told twice.

She pulls away from Draco and all but sprints for the house, more excited now then she has been in the past year.


	3. Chapter 3

In the months that pass Hermione and Draco find themselves incredibly busy. 

Neither of them can raise a child without proper income and while they are more then wealthy enough to live out the rest of their days in comfort they both decide that putting the money away and continuously putting money in their vault would be for the best. But for them to get a job they need their N.E.W.T scores or at the very least a mastery. 

Potions had been Draco's favorite subject in school and he'd been just behind her in a majority of their classes. Getting one's mastery isn't hard considering you simply have to apply and take an examination of skills, perhaps do an apprenticeship under a master for a short time, it would also allow Draco to freelance if he chose not to work for St. Mungo's or even Hogwarts. Not that he would go to Hogwarts if he had the opportunity to do so. It had been agreed upon that they would only go to Hogwarts when absolutely necessary, they both had their own reasons for it but a common factor had been Dumbledore's presence within the school. 

It would be too easy for the wizard to pry into their minds and knowing his thoughts on doing something for what he considered to be the greater good... Well, Hermione thought it best to avoid her old headmaster as often as possible for as long as possible. 

So with great consideration Draco decides to go for his Potions Mastery as it would make good money and would keep him from Hogwarts for the most part. Hermione decides to apply for a job in the Ministry and after several interviews, a retaking of her N.E.W.T.s, and an examination of her skills she manages to land herself a job as an unspeakable. Which... Isn't what she'd been expecting... Her original plan was to get into the Magical Law Enforcement division but obviously that didn't work out like it should have. But the benefits are good and she's allowed to work on her own experiments, set her own work hours. And after a few months of long nights, excellent behavior, and several sucessful experiments she begins to build something of a friendship with her department head. 

All-in-all it takes about nine months for the newly founded Deveraux family to truly establish itself. 

It takes another three before either Hermione or Draco are ready to get Tom from Wool's. 

"Are you ready for this?" Draco asks that fateful morning before either have gone down for breakfast. 

"No." 

She'd been unable to sleep the night before, her dreams plagued with images of a little boy with cruel red eyes and a laugh full of madness. It had been a horrible dream and one that had made Hermione wonder if this was a good idea in the first place. It's one thing to say you're going to adopt the kid who would eventually turn out to be your best mate's murderer and another to actually do it. 

Hermione feels like she might be physically ill. 

"Granger, it's alright, we don't have to do this today." 

But if they don't then what kind of person is she? If they don't go today then they won't go tomorrow, or the day after, or the day after that and one day it'll be too late to change anything at all. How would she be any better then Dumbledore in this situation? He'd known the potential Tom showed, the inclinations for the dark he'd had, and yet Dumbledore had done nothing but sit and watch as Tom succumbed to his own madness, his own rage. And when it was time to meddle? 

Well, he was good at that at least... Meddling with the lives of young children and adults alike. 

Squaring her shoulders Hermione says, "We can't go in our robes." 

"I'm aware." Draco says, eyes flashing in the vanity mirror when Hermione catches them. 

They've been sharing a room for months now, both aware that it would be best to become used to the act before they got Tom from the orphanage. It would be suspicious for a married man and woman who are, supposedly, happy and madly in love to be sleeping in separate beds. While it's easy enough to sleep in the same bed as Draco it's harder now to keep her nightmares from waking him. 

"You should wear the charcoal suit." Hermione says before turning her attention to her hair. 

Hermione had chosen to wear a plum colored day dress that flares gently at the calves and has a series of small pleats on the side. It's a very becoming dress and works with her skin tone well enough. The only aspect of the dress Hermione isn't sure she loves is the puffiness of the sleeves. It's a bit much but she supposes that once they get Tom back to the house she can change into something more practical. 

"We're going to have to take Tom shopping for new clothes." Hermione says after she's pinned the last of her hair into place. "I think we should stop by some of the muggle clothing stores and start there." 

"Just muggle?" Draco asks, fingers combing back his hair. 

"No... We can visit Madam Malkin's." 

"Madam Malkin's? Honestly?" 

"What? You'd rather go to Twilfitt and Tatting's?" Hermione bites out as she thinks about Narcissa ushering Draco out of Madam Malkin's after catching sight of Hermione and her friends. 

Draco sighs, "Robes from Twilfitt and Tatting's are going to last longer and can be adjusted at home. They're also of higher quality." 

"And Madam Malkin's robes are what? Too lowly for a Malfoy?" 

"No," Draco's gritting his teeth, "but I like knowing my money's going to be put to good use and not wasted on fabric that rips and tears all the time." 

"My robes never tore and I _always_ bought from Madam Malkin's." 

Draco rolls his eyes. 

"I'll buy you a set of dress robes from Twilfitt and Tatting's and you'll understand what I'm talking about." He muttered. 

"I've got plenty of robes." Hermione retorts. 

"And I've got more money then I know what to do with, if I want to spoil my wife and kids then I'm going to spoil my wife and kids." 

That's the end of it. 

Hermione doesn't mention the fact that he said kids as opposed to kid. Plural, not singular. She doesn't think Draco realizes he's said it, doesn't think he meant to, but either way she isn't going to be bringing it up any time soon. Not if it's just going to start a fight. Hermione swallows to clear her throat, puts on her hat, and rises to look at Draco. 

"Are you ready?" She asks as she grabs her purse off the table. 

"As I'll ever be I suppose." Draco sighs. 

Hermione shoots him a look before turning on her heel and striding from the room. 

The plan is to take Knight Bus to London, find Wool's Orphanage, and collect Tom. Afterward they'll take Tom to get food, explain to him what they are and what he is, and then take him home... Hermione tries not to think about how the inside of her mouth tastes like blood and dirt. 

Swallowing thickly, Hermione makes her way through the absolutely lovely country home and to the front door where grabs a coat out of the coat closet and slips into it. 

That had been another thing she and Draco argued about. Well, not the coat closet specifically, but not having a house elf to help around the house. Draco had grown up with a plethora of them in his home. They'd cared for him when he was young, dressed him, played with him, and Draco for the life of him hadn't been able to understand why Hermione was so against the idea of having them in the house. 

Eventually they'd had to agree to disagree on the subject as it was only causing tension between them and tension was the last thing either of them needed to be dealing with at the moment.

"Do you have everything?" Draco asks once he's slipped into his own coat and hat. 

He pulls the front door open before Hermione can respond and the warm golden glow of the lit house is a startling contrast to the heavy grey of a stormy morning. Hermione pulls her coat tighter around her and nods slowly. 

"Yes, I'm ready." 

"We'd best be off then." Draco offers his arm as he speaks and Hermione takes it with a tight lipped smile. 

They summon the Knight Bus soon after making their way to the end of the long drive. 

Thankfully the man that pulls up isn't the same man Hermione remembers from the first time she'd ever had to take the bus. This man is old and weathered, eyes sharp with intelligence but tired all-the-same. He asks for eleven sickles a piece and Draco hands them over before Hermione can even reach for the coin purse tucked into her own bag. The man ushers them into the bus and Draco tells him where they'd like to go before he guides Hermione with a warm hand at the small of her back. 

Once the two are seated Draco turns to Hermione. 

Neither of them speak but Draco keeps his fingers curled around her own, eyes bright even as his face remains cool as stone. 

They both notice the looks being cast their way. The witches and wizards on the bus trying to catch a proper look at the strangely Malfoy-esque looking man sitting with his wife. They'd done little things to change their appearance but no matter how many charms and spells one uses there's no way to completely change your face without the use of a polyjuice potion. Not even glamours help. 

Hermione's thankful that she doesn't have any noticeable features that could tie her to any of the Sacred Twenty-Eight houses here in Britain. The Black family, perhaps, but her features are not aristocratic enough to truly connect her own curly mess of hair to that commonly found being sported by members of _that_ particular house. 

Thankfully, the idea that the Deveraux family is distantly related to the Malfoy family through some distant cousin has saved the two of them quite a bit of suspicion as it's not uncommon for nobler houses to have ties to foreign houses. Still, Draco looks a little too much like a Malfoy... Even with all of the little changes. 

His father would be so proud. 

Hermione leans into Draco's side and fiddles with purse. It must annoy Draco, her constant fidgeting, because he reaches out to hold her hand carefully in his. Never once does he look at her, never once does he say anything to her, he just stares at the Daily Prophet he brought and reads as the Knight Bus shoots through the busy streets. Glancing out the window Hermione tries to get an idea of where they are but everything is moving too fast and it makes her eyes hurt the longer she tries to focus on any one object. 

The first stop nearly throws her into the alley. 

"Leaky Cauldron!" The man at the front calls and a number of the passengers rise to make their way to the front. 

Before the doors are fully closed behind the last person the bus is off; maneuvering through the streets and somehow avoiding causing any accidents as it presses between cars and other vehicles. 

"This is why I hate the Knight Bus." Hermione says after they take a corner a bit too sharply. 

"Mother never allowed me to take it. Said it would be unseemly." Draco's reply is a soft murmur so as not to be overheard by the two other passengers on the bus. 

"How'd you get around then?" 

"Floo or apparition mostly. For long distances we always took a Portkey."

Hermione nods. It doesn't really surprise her. While the Weasley family had utilized the car every so often (Ron and Harry's escapade during their second year of schooling notwithstanding) the Malfoys had never seemed the type to sully themselves with anything _muggle_. It'd been a shock when Hermione had explored their home and found a number of literary works and art pieces that were decidedly muggle. 

Hypocrites, the Malfoys, but Hermione hadn't been surprised about _that_. 

"My mum always liked the idea of flying on brooms." Hermione offers. 

"I thought your mother wasn't..." 

"No. That was my dad. He hated heights." 

"I think your mother would have been surprised." Draco's comment makes Hermione frown a bit. 

"How so?" 

"Brooms are great and all but you'd be surprised how easily it is to get hurt on them despite what everyone says. Takes years to get the kind of familiarity with a broom needed to do tricks like what Krum used to do." 

"That's one of the reasons they scare me." 

"I know." Draco turns the page on the Prophet and drops the matter entirely. 

Hermione settles back against the seat, content to stare out the window at blurred landscapes and just wait. It's peaceful, quiet, the steady rumble of the Knight Bus fading into the background until it's unnoticeable. Hermione traces an idle pattern into her leg and ignores the twinge emitting from her arm. No matter how capable the healers at St. Mungo's the slur carved into Hermione's arm was done with a cursed blade and the pain of it will forever haunt her. 

The next person to exit the Knight Bus is a burly looking wizard with a bushy beard and beady eyes. He stomps past and off the bus without so much as a thank you to the conductor. 

_How Rude_, Hermione thinks as the Bus takes off again. 

After his it's an elderly witch that smiles at them with a few missing teeth before shuffling off the bus. This time the conductor waits for her to reach the sidewalk before taking off again. 

Draco grabs hold of her hand. 

"Are you ready?" He asked, softly even though the conductor can't hear. 

"I don't know." 

Instead of giving her a verbal reply Draco merely squeezes her hand a bit tighter before pulling away to fold up his paper. 

It doesn't take them look to reach Wool's Orphanage; a drab, grey place that seems to suck the very life out of everything around it. There's no laughter, no children playing in the yard, nothing but the sign on the front gate to tell prospective parents that there are children in need of a home. Hermione swallows the bile that's trying to rise in her throat. 

The bus jerks to a stop and Draco glances at her before rising and offering his hand. 

She takes it, trembling and hesitant, and allows Draco to lead her out of the Knight Bus.

* * *

A woman greets them when Draco knocks on the front door of the orphanage. 

Hermione prides herself on being one to judge another based on their actions and not their physical appearance alone. Unfortunately Mrs. Cole has the countenance of someone who's providing and caring for a houseful of young children; harassed and run down - tired. She looks tired. But for all of that there is a kindness to the smile that Mrs. Cole offers that makes Hermione wonder if she's as cold as Hermione had suspected her to be. 

"May I help you?" The older woman asks and even her voice is worn. 

Thankfully it's Draco who replies; all dashing good looks and charm. 

"Good day, Madam, I believe my wife and I have an appointment with a Mrs. Cole." 

The woman straightens a bit, "Are you Mr. and Mrs. Deveraux?" 

"Yes Madam." 

She steps away from the door, holding it open so that Hermione and Draco can step into the orphanage. 

Hermione's surprised to find that aside from the fact that everything looks well used the orphanage isn't nearly as horrid as she'd suspected. It's much warmer inside, homier, filled with furniture and the distant squeal of children playing. It's surprisingly nice. 

"Please, follow me." 

Mrs. Cole smiles her thin smile before turning and making her way down the hall to a little office where she waits for Draco and Hermione to enter before shutting the door behind them. Hermione lowers herself into one of the chairs in front of the desk and leans closer to Draco so that she can wrap her fingers around his. It's more for her comfort but the way Mrs. Cole's eyes seem to soften makes Hermione smile a bit. 

The orphanage's matron sits behind the desk and pulls a stack of papers from one of the drawers before lowering them onto the desk top between Hermione and Draco. 

"I understand you're looking to adopt." Mrs. Cole remarks blandly, as if she's done this a hundred times and still hasn't seen anything good come of it. 

Hermione wonders how many young couples come looking for children only to bring them back once they've managed to have their own. For _surely_ that's why Mrs. Cole seems so hesitant? Surely that's why she suddenly seems so distant and sad? 

"Yes, my wife and I recently moved from France and we're looking to start a family." Draco offers a kind smile. "As this is the closest orphanage to our home we thought it best to start here." 

"I see." Mrs. Cole shifts through her papers. "Before we begin I'd like to ask a few questions. Would that be alright?" 

After Draco's confirmation the next few minutes are spent talking about work, where they live, the state of their financial stability. Hermione thinks it's for the security of the children. With the stock market crash in America affecting work and wages in Britain it's not unlikely that Mrs. Cole would want to ensure that any child leaving her care would be well provided for and not simply used as a means to make money. 

Hermione clutches at Draco's hand as the minutes tick by with Mrs. Cole continuing to ask questions and fill out paperwork. It's a long process and they haven't even been able to meet with Tom yet. Hermione sucks in a steadying breath through her nose and sighs in relief when Mrs. Cole puts aside the last of her personal paperwork. 

"Martha!" The greying woman calls. 

She and Draco twist to look at the middle aged woman who steps into the room. 

"Take Mr. and Mrs. Deveraux to meet with the children." Mrs. Cole demands to which the brown haired woman nods before smiling and ushering them out of the room. 

"I've gathered all the children into the play room." Martha says once the door has closed and they've begun walking. "We're fortunate enough to not have many here at the moment but many of the children who do live here are lovely." 

Many. Not all. 

Hermione smiles. 

"I'm sure they are." She says to the older woman who simply beams at her. 

It's strange. 

The attitude of Mrs. Cole and Martha doesn't seem to match up to what she'd expected. Perhaps they're faking it. Pretending to be loving and kind but... Hermione doesn't think it's an act. It could just be that with the accidental magic and the rage Mrs. Cole and Martha simply hadn't known how to handle Tom and so their behavior toward him turned to the more severe. 

Hermione tries not to frown or purse her lips. 

It's not like Tom would have made it easy for the caretakers here but that doesn't mean they had to be cruel or treat him unkindly. 

Martha's rambling on about a girl named Amy and a little boy named Billy - sweet children with gentle dispositions, a boy named Dennis - a good boy, and another named Eric- a timid child but intelligent. Never once does she say anything about Tom, never once does she even seem to realize that she hasn't or that she should. 

Hermione squares her shoulders as Martha opens a door and motions for her and Draco to step into the room. 

Several little faces turn to look at them as they enter, all hopeful and sad. Hermione's heart aches for them as she knows that there's only one child they'll be leaving the orphanage with. 

While Martha steps forth to tell the children to go off and play, to be on their best behavior, Hermione catches sight of a little boy settled in a corner with a battered copy of what looks to be _Grimm's Fairy Tales_, if the worn lettering on the cover is to be believed. Suddenly finding it difficult to breath Hermione breaks away from Draco and makes her way across the room to the boy. To Tom. To the one-day-monster of her dreams. 

_But not yet_, a voice that sounds like Harry says, he's not a monster yet. 

Holding her skirt just under her knees Hermione moves to kneel on the ground beside the little boy. 

"I don't like their games." The boy says after a moment. 

"I'm sorry?" 

He looks up at her then, eyes big and blue as a clear summer sky. 

"The others. Their games... I don't like them." 

"But you like books?" 

Tom nods once. 

"I do too." Hermione moves to sit on the ground beside Tom. "What's your favorite?" 

This time Tom pulls his book closer to his chest and turns to stare at her with big, big eyes. Sad eyes. Eyes that make her feel like a right arse for being so quick to assume he was a monster. Because they are a child's eyes and nothing more then that. Intelligent and curious but belonging to a child none the less. 

"It used to be Hamlet but Billy Stubbs ruined the only copy." 

_Shakespeare__, why am I not surprised?_

"To die, to sleep - to sleep perchance to dream - ay, there's the rub. For in this sleep of death-" "What dreams may come." 

Reaching out to brush a thick black curl away from Tom's face Hermione asks, "How old are you, Tom?" 

"I just turned seven." 

"And understanding Shakespeare? My, what an intelligent boy you are." 

Hermione isn't all that surprised really, everyone said nothing but great things about Tom's intelligence and Hermione never thought anyone would lie about that. How else would he have been able to sway so many influential figures to his cause? How else would he be able to slip under the noses of most of the people around him? He's an incredibly bright boy and Hermione understands that. Understands it in a way she doesn't think anyone else would be able to. 

"The others say I'm a freak." Tom's tone is correcting, like he's trying to tell her she's wrong. 

It makes Hermione... Mad. 

"You're a very _special_ little boy Tom... Far more special then I think you realize." 

Whether he's special because he's magic or because he's a parselmouth or because he's getting a family today Hermione doesn't specify. She doesn't seem to have to. Tom merely stares at her through big, sad eyes before he offer a tentative tilt of the mouth that might have been a smile. Without thinking she smiles and leans closer. 

"Would you like to come home with my husband and I, Tom?" She asks. 

He's going no matter what but Hermione thought she should probably ask. 

"Would I be coming back?" Tom wonders hesitantly. 

"Not if you don't want to." Hermione smiles and brushes back more black hair. "I don't think you will though." 

Rising, Hermione offers her hand to the little boy in the threadbare jumper. 

For a long few seconds he just stares at her hand before closing his book and reaching out to wrap his chilled fingers around her own. Once he's on his feet Hermione adjusts her grip on Tom's hand and makes her way over to where Draco and Martha are standing, both with entirely different looks on their faces. Hermione tries to ignore the pit forming in her stomach at the sight of so many forlorn faces turning away from her and Draco. 

"Tom I'd like you to meet my husband, Draco." Hermione says as she pulls Tom forward. 

Draco, for his part, doesn't even bat an eye at the young Voldemort's image. Instead he just crouches down and offers a soft grin that brightens the dove-grey hue of his eyes. 

"Hello Tom, a pleasure to meet you." Draco greets to which Tom nods hesitantly before turning to look up at Hermione. 

"I think it's best we speak to Mrs. Cole now Martha." She says to the brunette even through she's looking at Tom. 

"Oh, erm, yes. Of course. Right this way." 

Tom never releases his grip on Hermione's hand and he certainly doesn't seem to appreciate it when Martha attempts to pry him away so that she can usher him off to play with the other children. Her attempts are just met with a glare fierce enough to give Draco brief pause and a choked gasp from Martha. Hermione shares a look with Draco before she begins leading Tom to the office where Mrs. Cole must be waiting for them. 

If the Matron is surprised that they've brought Tom along she doesn't show it. In fact. The earlier kindness is suddenly replaced with apprehension and nervousness. She doesn't seem to like Tom being so close to her in such confined quarters, the evidence of that being the fact that the paperwork is handed out and filled in a matter of minutes where before it had taken much longer. 

Hermione tries not to scoff at the woman as they bid her a good day. 

Draco makes sure to leave a generous donation with the orphanage; to help provide for the children currently residing there and the ones who will surely come later. 

They only linger at Wool's long enough for Martha to drop off a nearly empty luggage case and for Mrs. Cole to give them Tom's papers. Once they've gotten everything Hermione gathers Tom's hand into her own and allows Draco to lead her out to the sidewalk. 

This time she doesn't ignore the way Tom is looking at her, at Draco. 

It's not the wide eyed innocence of a scared child going on with strange people, nor the suspicion of an older child. Oh no, this is the look of someone who's just realized that something is finally _his_ and isn't about to let it slip away through his fingers. 

Hermione swallows thickly before offering a bright smile. 

She never thought raising Tom would be easy but she's beginning to wonder if she's just made a very, very big mistake.


	4. Chapter 4

Wool's creaks and groans, what natural light does leak into the place seems to be swallowed up by the shadows and makes the orphanage appear lifeless. Cold. Hermione frowns as she follows Martha up the stairs, down a hall, and to a room that she promptly opens to reveal an equally lifeless bedroom that has naught but a bed, a small desk, a wardrobe, and a window with rocks lined up along the ledge that Hermione comes to find has a dismal view of Wool's front lawn. There's a picture pinned between the metal of a small lever and the wall of a cliff overlooking the sea. It's eerily familiar. It takes her longer then it should for her to realize that later in life Voldemort will use it to hide one of the shattered pieces of his soul. Turning back to Martha with a frown Hermione finds the other woman watching Tom as he begins ruffling through his things with a care children his age don't often have.

When the two make eye contact Hermione is quick to smile and make her way back over to the woman so that she can say, "If you'd rather I would be delighted to help Tom pack his belongings." 

Martha blinks, casts a baleful glance at Tom, and nods. 

"I'll go see if there's anything Mrs. Cole needs," she says, and then, "Should there be anything you think isn't needed the Orphanage will gladly reuse it." 

Then she's gone, scampering out of the room and back down the hallway while Hermione is left to stare at the spot the woman had previously occupied. Perhaps allowing Martha the opportunity to leave had been odd. Hermione doesn't know much about how Orphanages work but she thinks that even in this day and age most workers would be much more hesitant to leave a child unattended, even if his or her newly found parents were the ones they would be left unattended with. But then maybe it has to do with the fact that Tom has only packed one shirt, one pair of trousers, and a jumper and is currently attempting to sneak a small box in with his belongings as well. Unease settles in Hermione's chest as she watches him shuffle across the room toward the bed where his bag is. 

"Tom, what's that?" Hermione asks and hopes that she sounds curious as opposed to suspicious. 

The blue eyed boy pauses and looks at her as his grip goes white-knuckled around the box. 

"Just trinkets." Tom says. 

His tone is laced with something possessive and dark, something dangerous. Hermione almost finds herself likening it to the sound a hungry animal makes when defending it's food from other animals. Still, she smiles and moves closer to sit at the edge of the bed next to Tom's trunk. If he's going to attempt to pack away any stolen items then he's going to have to do in where she can watch him do it. 

"May I see them?" Hermione holds out her hand, palm up, and smiles brightly at the little boy standing in front of her. 

Parenting books, the ones she'd been able to find and read in preparation for this inevitable moment, don't say anything about dealing with a possible psychopathic megalomaniac prone to stealing other kid's toys and keepsakes. It's a daunting moment. Hermione realizes there's not much she can do but try and raise Tom properly, but it's difficult to decide what the right thing to do is when she's so terrified that nothing she or Draco does is going to change anything. What if he still turns into a killer? What if he still goes on to lead a genocide? 

_Enough of that_, she thinks suddenly,_ this is a child. Not the adult you knew_. 

"You'll give them back?" 

Probably not. Hermione knows that these trinkets don't belong to Tom and he's clearly afraid that she'll figure that out and give his precious trinkets back to the children that owned them previously. Instead of replying Hermione reaches out to gently ease the box from Tom's grip. He watches her with intense blue eyes as she opens the lid to look at the contents. There's a silver thimble, a harmonica, a red yo-yo, and a vibrantly colored ribbon among the objects hidden within the box. Hermione isn't sure who all Tom's stolen from or how many times but she can imagine the thefts went unreported by the children for fear of Tom's retaliation. Smile still in place but slightly less bright Hermione snaps the lid of the box shut turns her attention to Tom. 

"Tom, I need you to answer me honestly, are these yours?" She asks. 

If the eyes are the windows to the soul then Tom Riddle has no hope for redemption. Because his eyes are endlessly blue, wide, and full of reflective glass. There's nothing to suggest Tom feels anger or guilt or even fear as he meets Hermione's gaze with his own. 

"They are." He says after a moment. 

She resists the urge to roll her eyes, or huff, or grit her teeth because doing so wouldn't help the situation. She's a grown woman talking to a child and anything she does will only teach him how to act in the future. So what's the best thing to do then? Be honest? Probably. It's the only Hermione can think of so she swallows her annoyance and reaches out to stroke her knuckles along Tom's cheekbone. 

"I know you don't wear pink ribbons Tom, or sew, and the harmonica is engraved. I'm going to ask one last time and I expect you to answer me honestly; did you take these from the other children?" 

Moments pass in which Tom merely stares at her, perhaps looking for a weakness to exploit. He'll find nothing. Hermione already knows he stole these items, he knows that she knows. It's only a matter of time before Tom answers her. Maybe he realizes that whatever he says to her will dictate the beginnings of their relationship. 

"I can make people who are mean to me hurt, if I want." it's as much of a confession as Hermione thinks she's going to get so she offers a thin smile and glances at the box in her hand. 

"Just because you can, doesn't mean you should." she fingers the engraving in the top of the tin. "You're special Tom, very special, but that doesn't make you better than other people. It certainly doesn't give you the right to make other people hurt." 

"But they hurt me." 

Hermione purses her lips and nods. "I'm sure they probably did. People have a tendency to fear the things they don't understand and people like you? People like me and Draco? They don't understand us, but that doesn't mean we can purposefully cause them harm... Do you understand?" 

Tom's brows pinch and his jaw clenches before the tension bleeds out of his frame as Hermione's words seem to settle in. A curious light fills his eyes as Tom shifts closer to her and his thin, fragile looking fingers wrap gently around her wrist. 

"People like us?" 

"I'll explain later," Hermione promises as she rises and moves to place the tin box on the window ledge with the rocks. "Come along now, we've got so much to do today and so little time for it to be done." 

A longing glance at the tin is Tom's first response. Hermione can almost feel the pull of his magic against her own, a steady pressure pushing on the barrier Hermione erected around the stolen goods. Once they're gone the children will see the box and their treasures will return to them, but only after they've left and Tom has been forced to leave them behind. She smooths her hands over her skirt, rises, and smiles down at Tom. 

"Do you have everything?" when he nods she shuts up his trunk, takes it by the handle, and offers her remaining hand to Tom. 

He stares at it like he's never seen a hand before; eyebrows furrowed over narrowed eyes while the corners of his mouth tug downward into a slight frown. Hermione wiggles her fingers at Tom with an inviting smile that eventually manages to convince the little boy to take her hand in his own. Tom's hand is chilled, whether that's from poor circulation or the fact that he's cold Hermione isn't sure. She just grips his hand a little tighter in hers and rubs her thumb over his knuckles as she guides him from the room, she also ignores the way he seems to cling to her fingers. Together, the two of them make their way through the orphanage to Mrs. Cole's office where they find Draco signing off on some papers. 

Hermione guides Tom over to the chair off to the side of the room and ushers him into it with a sunny smile before going to take the empty seat next to Draco, who turns to her the moment she's sat and offers her a pen. It's an inkwell. Probably the only pen Hermione has ever seen Draco use without some level of hesitancy. When she'd been showing him how to use certain muggle objects he'd taken to some like a fish to water while with others (like a ballpoint pen she'd found in the bottom of her beaded bag) had been a bit harder for him. It seemed that the simpler the object the harder a time Draco had with it. Thankfully, he'd been a good sport about it all and by the time they'd shot themselves into the past Draco had made wonderful progress in terms of his use of muggle objects and his appreciation of them. 

"I've signed everything I need to, now we just need your signature." Draco tells her as he slips his pen into her hand. 

The silver is warm under her touch and Hermione rubs the pad of her thumb along the delicate engraving before leaning forward to sign her name on the indicated space. Another page is placed in front of her and Hermione signs that as well, and again, and again, and all the while Tom never takes his eyes off of her as she and Draco discuss the adoption process with Mrs. Cole and finish their business. By the time they're set to leave Hermione's certain Tom has managed to burn holes in the back of her head. They'll have to go to the Ministry at some point and register Tom as their child, adopt him in the magical was as well, but that can wait for another day. Hermione hands the pen back and smiles at Mrs. Cole. 

Relief is prominent on the woman's face, whether it's because someone has taken another child out of the orphanage or that they have taken Tom off of her hands Hermione can't say with any certainty but she'd be happy to wager. Hermione has to remind herself that Tom is going to have a stabler environment then an orphanage that doesn't have the resources to properly care for a child. He's also going to grow up in an environment where he'll be supported for his magic and carefully corrected when he shows signs of prejudice. Mrs. Cole might have done all she could for Tom in a previous life but it hadn't been enough. Hermione smiles as she goes to offer her hand to Tom while Draco finishes conversation with Mrs. Cole. 

"Are you ready to go home, love?" Hermione asks, fingers drifting to move silky brown hair out of Tom's face. 

"Yes, ma'am." He says as he slides out of the chair after she's pulled away. 

Draco appears beside them to gather up Tom's luggage- if he's surprised by the weight or lack-there-of Draco doesn't show it- and smiles kindly at the younger, more innocent version of the Dark Lord before offering Hermione his arm. She takes it and then she takes Tom's hand in her own, tying them all together as a sort of mismatched family unit. They leave Wool's orphanage without so much as a spare glance at Mrs. Cole or fidgeting Martha, who seems far too pleased, and quickly make their way to the street where it will be safer for them to call the Knight Bus that will take them back home. 

They'll need to get Tom some proper clothes and the like but Hermione would rather talk to Tom about magic and his place in the world tonight and introduce him to more non-muggle establishments tomorrow. She and Draco have spent quite a bit of time finding places that are run by half-bloods, muggleborns, and creatures in the hopes that it will shift Tom's perceptions without being obvious. Considering the fact that Tom is a half-blood himself Hermione doesn't think it will be too hard to get him to come around to the idea of equality among witches and wizards, she's more worried about his mindset shifting after he gets to Hogwarts. He'll be in Slytherin, of course, there are just some things that she can't hope to change and Tom's lineage is one of those. Hermione's not sure what kind of influence Tom's peers will have on him in the future so she's not really willing to take chances. 

When Draco pulls to a stop so he can call for the Bus Hermione turns to Tom and finds him staring at her through narrowed eyes. She smiles as she kneels in front of him. 

"Draco's just going to call the Knight Bus, then we'll be on our way." She smooths her hands over Tom's shoulders. 

"We'd hoped to be out of Wool's in time to take you shopping but it's a bit late for that and we have a lot to talk about." Draco says from behind her and Hermione glances over her shoulder to find warm dove-grey eyes staring at Tom. 

Screeching fills the air as the Knight Bus jerks to a stop in front of them, tires desperately trying to find the traction needed to keep the Bus from sliding forward anymore than it already has. Draco grumbles about public transit as the door swings open. 

Tom's fingers wrap painfully tight around her own, fear or excitement or apprehension urging him to seek out some fort of comfort. Hermione smiles as she rises to guide the dark haired boy onto the bus. She settles him on a bench between herself and Draco, wraps an arm around his shoulder, and grits her teeth at the horrible metallic clunking of the Bus as it shoots back into action. 

"We don't often take the Knight Bus," Draco begins once they've gotten on their way, "but it does in a pinch." 

"What Draco means to say is that we live too far from London to warrant using any of our normal ways of transport." 

"Normal ways of transport?" Tom asks. 

Hermione and Draco share a glance. Is it too soon to begin telling him all of this? They aren't in the comfortable privacy of their home and if Tom has any questions or concerns neither of them will be able to handle them properly. But they also just exposed Tom to magic and can't just leave him wondering. 

"Normally we apparate or take the Floo, but neither of them would work in our current situation as you've yet to be introduced to magical ways of moving about and it could make you ill." 

Not a lie, but not the truth either. 

Apparating would have made Tom sick, it made her ill the first time she'd done it, but for the Floo to work Wool's would have had to be hooked up to the Floo system and Hermione doubts anyone would want a possibly magic hating muggle accessing their world that way... The risk of exposure is also a big concern. 

Tom slides as the Bus banks left, his movements only stopped as Draco wraps an arm protectively around his shoulders to keep him anchored. Hermione watches for any tension, any sign of discomfort or disgust, but she sees nothing but softness in Draco's face and finds herself wondering if Draco will have an easier time of becoming Tom's parent than she will. 

"Magical?" Tom asks, his voice wavering. 

"It's a conversation best had at home, love." Hermione says to the boy. 

She laces his tiny fingers through her own and settles in for a long ride. Occasionally she and Draco will tell Tom little things about themselves; how they were educated in France, how they were educated, little things that don't seem terribly consequential and soon lull Tom off into a doze. Sleep is near impossible on the Knight Bus, the people who can manage to catch a few winks either spend too much time on the Bus or are desperate enough for a good night's rest that the rocking and violent turning doesn't disturb them, as Tom is neither Hermione makes sure to cast as many cushioning charms as she can manage without fully rousing him. 

Once Tom is rested comfortably against her shoulder Draco begins talking, "We should probably take Tom shopping tomorrow." 

"Where do you want to take him? I think Malkin's might be best." 

Distaste twists Draco's mouth and disrupts the smoothness of his face but he simply nods once before saying, "I know a nice shopping district in Paris we could take him to." 

"I don't know if Tom speaks French, besides, why not Diagon Alley?" 

"It's a bit overstimulating." 

Hermione tries not to take offence at the 'to someone not raised in a magical household' is left unsaid. Draco didn't mean anything by it and it's not like he was lying. Diagon Alley can be a little overwhelming, especially during the summer when children are still running around gathering their school supplies. It's one of the reasons Hermione had wanted to take Tom out for food and explain everything as soon as possible. A sort of get-it-over-with-quick-like-pulling-off-a-band-aid sort of thought. Unfortunately, it's late and Hermione hadn't thought that adopting Tom would be as draining as it had been. The process, that is, Tom has been very well-behaved thus far. 

"Fine, we can go to Paris." 

Quieter might be better for Tom; a more relaxed display of magic may have a better effect on him than Diagon Alley's somewhat over aggressive display. 

Draco smiles at her. 

"Knew you'd see it my way, Mia." 

"Oh please, I'm simply looking out for Tom's well being." Hermione snips back, which earns her a snort of laughter from the blond. 

They lapse into comfortable silence as Hermione gently runs her fingers through Tom's hair as he dozes. Overstimulated. At only seven Tom has handled the events of the day very, very well but Hermione hadn't expected him to stay awake during the entirety of the trip. He's still a young boy and with as much as he's been exposed to emotionally in the past few hours Hermione's glad he's taking the time to doze. Hopefully, he'll be able to process everything they're going to have to tell him. 

Hermione licks her lip as the Bus jerks to a violent stop and the man at the front barks out their stop. 

Draco's quick to rouse Tom while Hermione gathers his luggage. She steps out into the walk-way just as Draco gather's a groggy Tom into his arms so he can balance the little boy on his hip. Draco smiles as he places a hand on the small of Hermione's back to guide her through and out of the Bus. The moment they step foot on the gravel of the long drive the Bus shoots off, the pop of the exhaust startling the remnants of sleep from Tom. 

Making their way up the drive, Hermione keeps shooting looks at Tom. He seems enthralled, staring at the house and the garden and the trees beyond with a look of joy. Home. Tom's never actually had a true home before Hogwarts, and even then was it ever truly his home? Did he ever really feel safe in those walls? Welcomed? Did he feel like he always had something to prove, or some battle to fight, or some enemy to face? Hermione tries not to frown as she carefully unlocks the front door so that Draco can step inside and put Tom down. 

Immediately, the little boy is making his way hesitantly through the foyer and into the house. Everything seems to catch his attention; the moving pictures, the various magical objects Draco and Hermione had accumulated over the year they've lived in the house, even the furniture seems to catch his attention. Draco's arms finds its way around her waist, his hand resting softly on the top of her hip, and Hermione smiles as Tom turns to face them. 

"I think it's time we had that talk, yes?" She asks. 

"Yes, please." Tom replies. 

And there's something in the tone of his voice that sounds wild and hungry, feral. 

Draco tenses a bit before saying, "Let's go into the sitting room. I don't think this is a conversation to be had in the hall." 

Which is how Hermione and Draco find themselves seated on a couch in the sitting room, Tom sitting in Draco's favorite chair, and the sunlight spilling in through the windows to paint the room a soft, sunny gold. None of them speak for a long moment as they're all more focused on staring at each other, but soon Tom's impatience makes an appearance and Hermione is forced to take a deep breath before beginning their story. 

"Do you remember when I said that people like you and I are special?" She asks and when Tom offers a sharp nod she continues, "It's because you're a wizard, like Draco, like me, like so many other people living in this world." 

"A wizard?"

"Have you ever done something you couldn't explain? Maybe you've changed the color of your shirt? Or maybe you weren't able to reach something one second and the next it was in your hand?" She asks

"I can talk to snakes. They listen to me, do what I tell them to do." 

Draco nods. "That's a magical trait, it's not common among the majority of witches and wizards but it's a magical trait all the same." 

"How did you know I was magic?" 

This is the tricky part of the conversation. Well, the most tricky part. Hermione offers a soft smile as she reaches out to stroke Tom's cheek with her knuckles. 

"Your mother was a witch, a Gaunt, very old blood." Hermione doesn't miss the way Tom goes tense, tense, tense under her touch, "Unfortunately, a lot of older families tend to marry in select groups and it causes genetic issues that disrupt the appearance of magic. You're mother married a non-magical man and had you. You're a wizard, a gifted one." Draco explains, dancing around the topic and distracting the child with mention of his family, his biological family.

"Is that why you adopted me?" Tom asks, "Because I'm gifted?"

"Because you're a wizard? In part. We didn't want to take in a muggle child and make them feel like they weren't part of our family as they got older because they can't do what we can do." Hermione says, "While we would have gladly taken a non-magical child it wouldn't have been fair to take them in, expose them to magic, and then give them no way of accessing it themselves." 

Tom frowns, looking like he's trying to process everything that's been said to him, and eventually he asks, "But I can do it, right?" 

"Of course," Draco tells him, "and when you're old enough you'll go to Hogwarts to expand your magical abilities." 

"Howarts? What's that?" Tom asks. 

"A discussion for another day. Come on, it's getting late and you've had a big day." Hermione rises and looks at Draco and Tom before saying, "We'll make dinner, we'll get you settled in for bed, and then tomorrow we'll go get you some clothes and tell you more about magic, deal?" 

Tom looks like he's going to argue and demand questions, Hermione doesn't blame him for it because she would have done the same, but it is getting late and too much information all at one time won't be helpful. Thankfully it's Draco who swoops in and distracts Tom, promising to show him a bit of magic if he washes up. Tom is eager to comply and is quick to follow Draco to the bathroom while Hermione makes her way into the kitchen to begin dinner. 

She's dicing vegetables when Draco and Tom waltz into the kitchen; Tom looking eager and Draco looking pleased with himself. Hermione sets aside the knife as Draco points his wand at her, fighting the instinctual drive to grab her own wand and blast his face off. She takes a deep breath, holds it in for ten seconds, and releases it as the same time Draco conjures a bouquet of roses which he quickly plucks up and hands to Hermione. They're a mix of white- or is it ivory?-, a few orange roses, a handful of light pink, and a couple of black. Hermione takes them with a soft smile, not entirely sure of their meanings, but she seriously doubts that at this point Draco would give her a bloody death rose bouquet. 

"Thank you, I'll get a vase if you and Tom will chop vegetables for me." She tells Draco. 

"Of course, dear." 

If Draco plants a chaste kiss at her temple as she passes him Hermione doesn't say a thing. 


End file.
